


Kisstober 2020 (Band of Brothers)

by gottapenny (dickjokesanddoilies)



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Lots and lots and lots of kissing, M/M, kisstober, s/o to Wally for making this lovely prompt list!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26764063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dickjokesanddoilies/pseuds/gottapenny
Summary: 31 lil ficlets all about kissing, featuring a BOB and/or Pacific ship randomly selected for each day!
Relationships: (plus rarepairs!), Babe Heffron/Eugene Roe, Bill Guarnere/George Luz/Joseph Toye, Carwood Lipton/Ronald Speirs, George Luz/Joseph Toye, Joseph Liebgott/David Kenyon Webster, Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters, Merriell "Snafu" Shelton/Eugene Sledge
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21
Collections: Band of Boyfriends Kisstober Challenge 2020





	1. Day 1: Sleepy Kisses (Luztoyrere)

Day One: Sleepy Kisses:

George peeled his eyes open with sluggish effort as the soft music of his alarm twinkled in his ears from his earbuds. It was still pitch black outside it was so early, and he only managed to hold in a groan for the sake of the two still slumbering in his bed to the right of him. He glanced down at the thickly-muscled arm wrapped tightly about his chest and frowned. Him being up before Bill-who was a freakishly early riser for no good goddamned reason- and Joe-who somehow thought it was okay to go for  _ runs  _ at like five am- just felt wrong. The fact that he wasn’t waking up to the sounds of one of his lovers puttering about their pint sized kitchen made his chest ache, and for a brief moment of insanity Luz felt like he might throw a tantrum. Bill must’ve had the rare Saturday off and it wasn’t  _ fair.  _

__ Instead of the screaming and stomping he longed to make in protest, George allowed himself one long, slow huff and started to scooch himself up. Unfortunately the still sleeping Bill had other ideas, and George’s breath left him in a choked off squeak as his boyfriend’s powerful arm crushed him back into his bare, warm chest. To make matters worse, it seemed that that BARELY audible noise George had uttered was enough to rouse Joe, and George mouthed an inaudible “ _ fuck”  _ as long, calloused fingers clumsily reached out and slipped through his horrifically messy bed head. 

“Was matter?” Joe sounded like he was 90% still in dreamland, his words mumbled directly into his pillow.

George clicked his tongue and attempted to swivel out of his boyfriend’s sweet but distracting touch, “I’ve got that weird work thing, remember?” He whispered (or as close to whispering as George Luz could manage).

“Fuck ‘em. Too cold, an Bill’s got the day off.” 

Dark eyelashes fluttered open at the sound of his own name, and George groaned for real this time as Bill tightened his already-choking grip around George’s very soft middle. 

“Shuddup you two. ‘M not workin today.” 

“Yeah? Well I am. Honestly being the two of you’s sugar dad-“

His very indignant-yet-hilarious rant was cut off by a pair of clumsy, slumber warm lips pressing insistently to his mouth as Bill decided there was a much simpler way to get George to stop talking. George allowed the kiss to happen rather than try and escape the cozy confines of the bed for a second time, a pleasant warmth settling in his chest as he felt the familiar brush of stubble and slightly-chapped lips. Bill’s arm slipped from around his back up to cup the back of George’s head with feather-light delicacy, and George couldn’t help but laugh into Bill’s mouth at how he seemed to be still on the tipping point of sleep even as he continued to kiss George. Humming appreciatively, George turned his head in order to deepen the kiss, all the while slowly shifting his weight closer and closer to the end of the mattress. Just as he felt the warm, wet pressure of Bill’s tongue pressing up against the seam of his lips, George suddenly swooped out from under the circle of Bill’s arms to his feet. 

“Hey!” 

“You’re just too easy, Guarno.” 

George chuckled, tempted as always to tell Bill that his grumpy glare was really far more adorable than it was intimidating. Sadly, George knew that would earn him a slow, painful death and he really didn’t have to be his typical asshole self. Crying shame, that was. 

“‘S fuckin dirty, Luz! You play dirty.” Bill complained to George’s back as the other man gathered up his more “work appropriate” attire mixed into the neon monstrosity of his personal wardrobe. 

“My heart bleeds for you, Bill, it really does. Look, you got a WHOLE ‘nother boyfriend you can kiss right there!” 

Joe was snickering in that dry, gravely way of his as he gathered the protesting (read: pouting) Bill into his arms, pressing a kiss into his spiky, dark hair before he turned his attention back to his other partner, who’d  _ nearly  _ managed to sneak into the bathroom. Dark eyes narrowed and Joe gestured to George with a stern little nod of his head: 

“Ey, asshole, you not gonna kiss me goodbye?” 

George’s eyes rolled so hard he was worried they’d knock loose, but dutifully he scurried to the opposite side of the bed and pressed a wet, smacking lip to Toye’s forehead (cartoonish ‘MWAH!’ and all). Joe gave him a thunderous expression as George slipped into the bathroom, flipping his loving boyfriend the bird with the sweetest smile on his face.

“That ain’t what I meant Georgie!” 

Joe struggled to shout over the rushing water as George started up his shower. George continued to laugh to himself, and didn’t worry about his two idiots as he began undressing. They’d be back to sleep by the time George got out anyways. 


	2. Day Two: Littering Face with Kisses (Speirton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon Era, and melodramatic as all hell. Pretty starkly different in tone to the first tooth-rotting chapter. Takes place after Ron's little skip through Foy to hook up with I Company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...well, as you may or may not be able to tell, two days in and I've already missed a day. I'd say I'm shocked and disappointed in myself but honestly...this is VERY on brand for me.

Day Two: Littering Face with Kisses(Speirton) 

Carwood didn’t have a watch or anything on him, but he could tell that night was bleeding into day again, as the midnight sky slid from a purplish hue to a near pitch blackness. In spite of the hour, he found sleep was evading him, rather uncharacteristically. Back home, he was teased relentlessly by his siblings for always being the first to go to bed, and also the first to rise. Tonight however, he found that every time his tired eyes fluttered shut, his mind plopped him right back into that clearing at Foy, and to one moment in particular. 

Over and over again, his mind played Lieutenant Speirs charging up that hill, his promises to link up with I Company hanging in the air and ringing in Carwood’s ears. Only this time, the SS weren’t as stunned by the American soldier’s boldness, or were perhaps just not so slow on the uptake. And over and over again, Lip’s imagination supplied a horror show of bullets tearing into Speir’s sleek, deadly form. One, two, ten bullets ripping cleanly through the charging man, Ron’s graceful stride cut short as his bleeding, dying body collapsed to the frostbitten grass. It was like a flip book of the most morbid variety and in spite of the frigid air that turned his panting breath into swirling clouds, Carwood felt feverish all over. 

His feet carried him like a man possessed, his footsteps lighter than he’d ever remembered walking before as he made his way to where he knew Dog Company’s foxholes were located, to the north of E Company. His blood roared with adrenaline, hot and heady, as he tiptoed over to the closest foxhole, smiling to himself because he couldn’t imagine Ron had been too keen to follow military protocol which required higher ranked officers to set their camps up furthest from the line. He can just picture how those deep, dark greens eyes must’ve flashed with a smothered defiance, nearly letting loose a quiet chuckle that could’ve gotten him killed by a nerve-sick private, imagining the stubborn man swallowing down his arguments  _ allowing  _ him to be closer to the danger. Of course, thinking about Ron’s devil-may-care attitude towards the battlefield just reminded Carwood of how...how  _ reckless  _ the other man had behaved, and his humor soured in his gut and settled like a heavy stone. 

“L-lieutenan...Spe-Ron, sir, it’s uh...me.” Lip finished lamely, suddenly realizing just how stupid and impulsive he was being right now. He’d only known Ron for a short while now, had only  _ really  _ gotten to know the man during their time together in Bastogne, and already the wild-eyed soldier was rubbing off on Carwood terribly. 

The dingey blue tarp covering Ron’s foxhole was suddenly thrown to the side with a loud, harsh rustling of the coated fabric, startling Carwood’s already racing heart rather badly, especially with the gun that was being pointed at him. Ron’s face was fierce and frightening in the darkness, the moonlight glinting off of his teeth and bouncing off of his wide eyes. With his dark hair in fluffy disarray from sleep, he looked even more wild and untethered than he normally did, and for some reason the sight of him sent a simmering heat down Carwood’s spine rather than the icy trickling of terror one would expect. Clearly there was something deeply wrong with him; Ron was buried underneath his skin, and burning him up from the inside out. He felt feverish with it, barely waiting for Ron to acknowledge that Lip wasn’t some incredibly bold kraut before he was pushing inside the narrow gap of dirt and thrusting the tarp back into place behind him.

“Carwood…” 

Hearing Ron say his first name so softly, and so casually only made the burning sensation throughout his body worsen, and he felt like screaming.  _ What right did Ron have to use his first name like that? What right did he have completely bypassing army protocol, and addressing Carwood like they were somehow more than just two paratroopers fighting the same hellish war?  _

“It’s late.” Ron said dumbly, when it appeared like Carwood wasn’t going to say anything at all, just stare at Ron and breath like some sort of crazed, rabid animal. 

“I...I couldn’t sleep?”

Intelligent green eyes flickered over the entirety of his face, his heaving chest, and shaking hands and something like understanding passed over Ron’s face. “And why’s that?” He asked softly, but something in his tone said that he  _ knew,  _ somehow he  _ knew.  _

“F-Foy...back there...you pulled that crazy stunt, Leiut-Sp- _ Ron _ . Seriously, I’d never seen anything like it; could hardly believe my own eyes. By all accounts y-you should be dead. You could’ve  _ died _ , Ron.” 

The words tumble out of his shaking lips in a messy heap, clumsy and thick with the fear he hasn’t been able to shake for hours now. In response, Ron simply nods, stoic and as unaffected as ever. For a moment, there’s nothing but the whistling of the harsh winter wind and his own shuttering, harsh breathing as the two men stare at one another. And then, the damn breaks and suddenly Carwood is launching himself into Ron’s space, half clamored in his lap, and framing both sides of Ron’s chilly, stubbled face with his hands. Ron makes no moves to stop him from doing so, and wraps his arms around the broad expanse of Carwood’s back to keep the hysterical man steady. Carwood presses quick, harried pecks across every surface of Ron’s face he can reach: both of his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, and the eerily quiet man even dutifully closes his eyes so that he may press kisses to each of his papery-thin eyelids as well. The fear and the anxiety and the adrenaline all come rushing through him in one massive burst, and throughout his frenetic desperation, Ron stands statuesque and patient, like he’s not bothered whatsoever by Lip’s sudden bout of insanity.

“Stupid. So stupid. Stupid. Could’ve died.” someone is saying, and with a jolt, Carwood realizes that it must be him, whispering it into Ron’s fragrant neck like a prayer. Finally, after it seems his lips must’ve covered every square inch of Ron’s face and neck, all of that previous energy slips away just as quickly as it had formed, and he finds himself slumping up against Ron’s scratchy ODs and the firm, warm press of his chest hidden beneath it. A rough palm slips through the shorter hair at the back of his head, the touch shockingly gentle for a man as gruff as Ronald Speirs. His voice, too, when he finally speaks, is feather-light and careful.

“But I didn’t. I’m here, Carwood, and so are you.” 

The hand travels to cup one of Carwood’s cheeks, and even though he is terrified to do so, he dutifully takes the cue and inches his face away from the crook of Ron’s neck so that Ron can look into his eyes. There’s something deep and meaningful burning in the dark depths of Ron’s eyes, so dark that they only truly appear green in the middle of the day, and helplessly, he feels something slipping loose from the tight knot in his chest. And this time, when he moves in to kiss Ron, he moves in to answer Carwood with a kiss of his own. 


End file.
